Chapter 63: The Road Less Traveled

I shifted, shielding my eyes from the last of the setting sun. “I think I do. If it’s about being gay, I just thought you must have heard or maybe, if you looked hard enough, read about John and me. I did submit the news of our marriage to Alumni News, so it’s not exactly a secret.”

            “No. I knew about that. In fact, looking back, I think I always knew.”

            “What gave it away?” I laughed.

            “Believe it or not, it was the flowers. You were the talk of the third floor for weeks. You almost ruined my reputation, you know."

            “Good lord, how? We went out, what? Twice?”

            “Yes, and I tried to tell my dormmates that you’d been the perfect gentleman. Their response was ‘With those flowers? Who gives a girl flowers like that without expecting anything, you know, in return?’ Well, the more I insisted that nothing had happened, the more they pushed back. And then Freida figured it out. Remember Freida Haskell, our RA?”

            “Whiney Frieda? She’s the one who informed me I was in ‘deep doo-doo’ for standing you up. She’s probably the reason I went on that quest for flowers. That, and the fact that I felt bad about hurting your feelings.”

            “Now see, there it is. That’s it. Freida said it. No straight guy is going to go to that much trouble for a girl who isn’t sleeping with him. Freida believed me. The only other alternative explanation for your sensitivity was, you’re gay. ‘As Mother Goose,’ as Freida so eloquently put it.”

            “How come you didn’t say anything back then?”

            “To you? I didn’t want to make you and more uncomfortable than you clearly were. You’d been so nice to me. And there was no way I’d tell anyone else. That would have been as cruel to you as you were kind to me.”

            “So. Wow. So you married.”

            “Curtis Kimble. We met on the Hill in 1980. He was one of the best-looking men I’d ever met, present company excluded.”

            “Of course.”

            “Anyway, we dated for almost two years. After the wedding, he was stationed in Nairobi with the State Department. I stayed behind. I was gaining seniority and we decided we could wait out his assignment. Those were two really hard years. After he returned, we said never again. We wanted children, but after a few years of trying—even two runs at invitro,  we ended up adopting twins, a boy and girl, Matt and Lena.”

            “Pictures please.”

            Mallory handed me her phone and scrolled through the most recent months of photos.            

“Oh my god, Mallory, are you a grandmother?”  I said, as we stopped on an image of her with a newborn.

            “Three times already. A fourth on the way this December. Can you believe it? What about you?”

            “Actually, John and I got kind of a late start. Kids just weren’t in the picture.”

            “So,” she said, patting my arm. “Tell me about John. Is he as nice as you?”

            “No one’s as nice as I am,” I deadpanned. “But he’s the handsome one, see?”

We traded phones and she scrolled though the obligatory photos I’d dropped in a convenient file for just this purpose.

            “You look like such a happy couple.” She looked up, tears running down her face.

            “Mallory?”

            “Dammit, Drew. Just dammit. And damn him.” Mallory wrung my handkerchief in her hands. “I found a letter, several letters, actually, after Curtis died. To a man.”

            I took her hand and waited.

            “I was going through old boxes in our closet, taking out his clothes for the Goodwill. My therapist called it a ‘letting go’ ritual that would help ease my pain.”

            “I’m familiar with the concept.”

            “Of course. Anyway.” She blew her nose and continued. “Anyway, I was going through boxes of Curtis’ things. He saved everything: receipts, expired passports and driver’s licenses, even old menus and restaurant matches, back when people smoked.” She looked warily at the cigar still poised in my right hand. “It was hard enough to go through the boxes that brought back the happy memories. And then I found the box with the letters. To a man named Phil. He was in the Foreign Service. And the best I can gather from their correspondence is that they met while Curt was in Nairobi.”

            Mallory stood, gathering her thoughts and wringing her hands.

            “It must have been quite a shock for you.”

            “You’d think so but, after the initial indignation wore off, I was able to think in a more detached way about it. And, it began to make sense. I think, looking back, that I ignored a thousand clues because I wanted to. Because selective ignorance was what made our marriage work.”

            “I see. Still, I can see how upsetting it is for you. Even now.”

            Mallory smiled and sat. “I know you must think I’m a deranged widow, but I really didn’t come here to tell you all of that. I actually came to thank you.”

            “Thank me? For what, Mallory?”

            “For being yourself. Authentic. For not marrying some unsuspecting girl, like I was. For not trying to force fit yourself into a marriage that wasn’t meant to be. I guess I’m thanking you for not holding on to the pretense.”

            “You have no idea how many years I clung to the idea.”

            “Idea of what?”

            “Normal. Of fitting in the way I ‘should.’”

            “Ah, I’m familiar with the ‘shoulds.’ My therapist, Amy, has been helping me conquer them for years now.”

            “How’s that going?”

            “I’ll let you know when I get there,” Mallory laughed. “Amy says to ‘stop shoulding all over yourself. It’s the key to happiness.’”

            I felt the question slipping from my lips before good sense could stop me. “Were you happy? In your marriage, I mean.”

            “I’ve asked myself that, a lot, over that past three years, since. And the answer was, and to some extent still is, yes. Curt was a devoted husband. He never neglected me or our children. Aside from his time with Phil in Nairobi, I don’t think they ever met again. Attentive, kind. They’re the words that keep coming up. I’ve thought about it since, and I realize how much you—first-year you and Curt—were alike. He was a good man. And obviously a very tortured man, from what his letters said.” She dried her eyes. “Were you, you know, tortured by it? Early on I mean?”

“I think tortured is a strong word for it, but being gay in the 70s and 80s—even the 90s—wasn’t a cake walk. There were so many, what’s the word? Consequences. Just for being who you were. It seems so absurd when I say the words.” I searched her face for understanding. Finding it, I went on. “But now, in the end, John and I have each other. We don’t have to hide who we are, who we love. It’s a different world now. A better one.”

Mallory nodded. “It’s just so sad, in the end. Curt could have had such a different life. Maybe even a happier one, like you, and your husband, John.”

            She looked at me, questioning, hopeful, as if I might have an answer to a question about a lifetime and choices made and not made. I started carefully.

            “I can only tell you, Mallory, that we all make choices. And clearly, he chose you. Your family. And it lasted for decades. There’s something in that choice that he valued. And loved.”

            Mallory rose. “I appreciate that, Drew. It’s how I prefer to remember things. As always, you say the right thing.” She handed me my handkerchief. “Oh, gosh, look, it’s beginning to get dark and the dinner is probably starting.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m so glad to know you Drew. You showed me kindness then. And you’ve shown me kindness now, when I really needed it. I want you to bring John by our table. I’d really like to meet the guy that won Drew Carter’s heart. We’re at Table 22. I’m sitting with some of the Thetas. Nothing like your sorority sisters to cheer you up.” And she turned and added, “Except maybe a dozen roses.”

            She was gone before I could tell her that John hadn’t joined me.